


Through The Eyes of a Hawke

by alphabetray



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: AU, Fuck the Clave, Gen, M/M, Multi, Ragnor is also cool, Wingfic, a lot of swearing, alec is a Nephilim but not a shadowhunter, alec isn’t called alec for a lot of it, also warning for violence to children and descriptions of violence/injuries, and they were ROOMMATES, basically the plot of the show, but Alec’s doing his own thing, dubious parent Maryse Lightwood, i am also the person who posted this on wattpad don’t sue me, i mean he’s also other stuff but i love him, im not fucking around w that tag, magnus is wonderful hes just wonderful, mlm author, nephilim have wings, no we support polyamory like men, saia? sizzy? izzy/maia??, she’ll learn, thats the plot, the clave is trash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-25
Updated: 2018-06-17
Packaged: 2019-05-13 16:49:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14752613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alphabetray/pseuds/alphabetray
Summary: “It’s political. Chucking kids off cliffs? It’s fucking politics. Fucking Nephilim. You look after that boy, warlock. Keep him away from those fuckers. God knows what his parents did to get him killed, but I wouldn’t send him back there.”Every so often the angel demands a sacrifice in exchange for the powers given to the Shadowhunters. When Alexander Lightwood was 10, his parents were told that when his wings grew in he would die for the good of the Clave.That is, in theory.8 years later two shadowhunters and a warlock find a Nephilim living in the house of Ragnor Fell, minutes before his death.





	1. Beginning as you mean to go on

Alec Lightwood was fifteen years old when he was thrown off a cliff for the clave. 

He remembered being led up the trampled down path to his death. This was for the clave, they told him. The best and the brightest. It was an honour. He’d wished that the road had been more overgrown, didn’t display the countless youths that had walked it over the centuries. They’d tied his hands together so he couldn’t fight them, and tied a rope around his neck to act as a leash so he couldn’t fly or run. It wasn’t a completely clear path, there had been some brambles growing on the way like nature was trying to make him stumble away from what was coming. Fuck. Maybe he’d come back as a thistle or a nettle or something, doing his best to prevent others from going the way that he had. They’d dressed him in white because they had to stick to the stupid fucking cliches. He was about to die, he was allowed to swear in his mental narration of events. A linen shirt and trousers. He’d tripped over and dirtied one of the knees. And they’d led him like an animal to the precipice and they’d burned him and they’d beaten him and they’d broken his wing, only his right wing because they wanted it to hurt when he hit the ground, and when there was no chance he could fly anymore they’d runed him to stop him from having a heart attack halfway down and pushed him off the cliff.

The worst part about falling was how close it came to flying. The same feeling of unsupported freedom, the same adrenaline rush. The same thrill. His instinct was to enjoy the air rushing past his face, the sense of complete weightlessness because normally he could and he did. The only real difference was the pain lancing through his right side from his burned and twisted wing, and the sickening knowledge that he would hit the ground hard, never to rise again. The impact would be the end of him. His left wing struggled to slow his fall but it wasn’t enough. Alec Lightwood was about to die and holy shit was he not ready for it. The cliff face rushed past him at a terrifying pace. He closed his eyes. Hopefully the wolves resident in the woods below would take his body before his family could find what was left of him. Izzy. God. Jace, who’d almost been his parabatai. He’d look after her. And Max, they could both watch out for his baby brother. Fifty meters up he remembered the basic physics he’d been taught back at home and spread himself out as best he could because maybe it would be enough, maybe he wouldn’t have to die.

It was unclear whether the ground hit him or he hit the ground but either way, first there was pain and his vision filming red and then there was nothing.

He wasn’t within his body anymore, like the fall had jolted his soul out of its container and now it was hovering untethered with nowhere particular to go. He - or the thing that used to be him - looked close to normal. That was ignoring the fact that his legs shouldn’t have been at that angle and the fact that his skin had split in places, showing parts of him that should never be bared to the open air. He was presumably dead, though this wasn’t quite how he’d imagined spending eternity. There was blood pooling below his head. Fuck. It wasn’t the first time that that had been the only really appropriate reaction to his... death and it probably wouldn’t be the last.

Voices echoed out from the forest and everything blurred brighter and brighter until he was forcibly slammed back into the destroyed body like he was putty that some cosmic hand had grabbed and forced back into a box which didn’t quite fit, leaving parts bulging out and escaping from the containment. He couldn’t open his eyes, was dimly aware that he was breathing rattling breaths into punctured and destroyed lungs. It felt like he was being burned alive. Everything was hot, the blood that was struggling its way around collapsing veins, the pain that flooded every part of his body. He couldn’t think, couldn’t move, couldn’t see beyond a crimson void.

“They’ve sent down another one,” a voice said. “Looks like it’s a breather. Poor sod.”

“This is normal, brother? Does the clave make a habit of letting children fall from the sky?” asked a new voice.

“I forget that you’re still new here. It happens every so often. He’ll be dead soon enough. We normally burn the bodies.” The first speaker sounded not quite detached, more resigned. “Can’t do much for them anyway, not after that kind of fall. Though, if that warlock finds us he’ll probably give it a go.”

More footsteps at the corner of his fading consciousness. “Stand back - stand back I said!”

“Speak of the devil.”

A coolness rushed over him, beating back the heat. It reached up, tangling around his shoulders and the base of his wings before curling through his neck and into his head. It brought with it darkness. Finally, Alec thought, I can die.

He didn’t die.

The daylight streaming in from the barn windows was bright enough to break through his closed eyes and he opened them to stare at the wooden ceiling above him. His body wasn’t working, he could just about move his eyelids but not much else. Someone had come in, probably whoever had brought him here, some time after he’d woken up but they were standing somewhere outside of his line of sight and hadn’t said a word. He was entirely exposed and vulnerable and not for the first time since he’d woken up, he wished that the fall had done what it was meant to do and killed him. This was his fault for trying to slow his fall. He’d tried to live and he’d get his wish, only he’d be unable to move or speak or cry, no longer a warrior but a prisoner inside a body which no longer fit him. This was the price of selfishness. If he’d been a better soldier, a better sacrifice, he’d have let himself die for the Clave.

Footsteps echoed out and he heard the creak of a door opening. “How is our fallen angel doing?” 

“Well, he’s awake. You sure you can heal that? You’ve got a limi-”

“Oh, dear friend. Have faith!”

A twig crunched as one of the two made their way towards Alec’s prone body. A warlock, with horns sprouting from his head and magic crackling around his hands.

“This, my boy, will send you back to sleep. This may hurt and it is quite unnecessary - quite unnecessary, I say - for you to remain conscious through the process.” His eyes met Alec’s and he smiled. “I am Ragnor Fell, shadowhunter. I understand your fear, but you must understand this. Your body is broken from your fall, my magic is the only thing currently keeping the pain from spreading through your system and reaching your brain. I expended much - too much! - magic yesterday healing you. I have a limit, my wolffish friend is correct. A waste! It was inefficient and panicked. Fortunately it was enough to render you stable. Now I must begin the long process of finishing what I have started. It is time, more than time, for you to sleep.”


	2. A Slow Recovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alec heals, surrounded by an enemy he doesn’t fully want to understand just yet.
> 
>  
> 
> AKA not much happens, I just wanted to update again. Lots of dialogue. More substantial update on the way.
> 
> Btw, Alec isn’t a good person. He’s not in the character of show!Alec right now, he’s a 15 year old who thinks his parents know everything (and as we know, Maryse had more than her fair share of prejudices).

The back of the makeshift wheelchair jammed uncomfortably into the base of his wings as it bumped over the uneven ground of the clearing. If it were a mundie chair with big wheels he could totally have pushed himself, his arms were mostly healed by now, but it had been put together by werewolves using agricultural materials they'd stolen from various shadowhunter's who had houses in the woods and, as such, it fell to Alfie, the gruff man who Warlock Fell had befriended to wheel him around whenever he got bored of being trapped in the barn. It was embarrassing, not being able to even move himself. Needing help in and out of the stupid chair. Stupid werewolves and their stupid chairs. There was a group of the younger wolves getting dressed out at the edge of the trees, a pile of dead animals next to them. They'd all been friendly enough, he supposed, but they were all older teenagers. The younger wolves lived somewhere else, probably. 

"Hey, kid. I need to go talk to them. You OK here?"

Alec nodded his agreement and Alfie wedged a rock under one of the wheels before walking off. He tilted his head back and let the Alpine sun bathe him in its iridescence. Voices rose up from the group, Alfie scolding them for not butchering their prey before returning. Soon the clearing would be full of returning hunters and he'd go back inside and spend the evening shut in until the warlock came to heal him. It was a routine of sorts, he'd gotten used to it in the month or so that he'd been here. The clearing was mostly devoid of buildings apart from the barn which was for storage and where he slept and an equally falling apart building which was sleeping quarters for the wolves. There was a constantly stoked fire over on the other side to him, and the smoke was blowing into his nose and mouth. Of course Alfie had left him in its path. It probably smelled good to him or something.

A cloud drifted over the sun and he opened his eyes and frowned at the sudden cold. Alfie was still over with the wolves, some of whom were shooting glances at him. He suddenly felt very vulnerable and very exposed, with no way to move to safety.

"Your watchful guardian left you on your own?" He jumped, he hadn't noticed anyone coming up behind him.

"Relax. I'm slightly beyond my Nephilim killing days. Zoe."

He looked at the wrinkled hand the wolf offered him before hesitantly reaching out to shake it. "Alec Lightwood."

"Well. That's a name and a half for a little boy like you to carry,” she said, her teasing tone turning more mocking.

"What do you-" 

Ragnor Fell emerged from the trees opposite them and stride towards him. "There you are. Zoe, my love, it is good to see you. No, no it is excellent to see you. I had a question for you. What was it? Ah, yes. Do you know the history behind these marks. Where did I put that damned book. Oh, there it is. Must not forget to check my trousers!" He pulled an ornate notebook out his pocket and flicked through it. "Here, I kept forgetting to ask about these. It seems a popular tattoo among more urban wolves and I must, I simply must, enquire whether it's part of a tradition or..."

Alec let his mind block out the warlock's quickfire speech. Alfie was headed back towards them, evidently having lost the battle to get the other wolves to do their own work. He knew his family mattered within the Clave, they were heads of the New York Institute and Lightwood was an old and respected name. Not something to be ashamed of. Though, to a downworlder it was a mark of loyalty to a law which they hated and rebelled against. They hated him because his family was the best.

A hand touched his shoulder. “Well, all that being settled, it seems to me time for another healing.” 

Alec looked up at Ragnor, startled by the attention suddenly returning to him. He nodded and the warlock kicked out the rock before pushing him back towards the barn.

“Why does she think my surname is a bad thing?” he asked. He doubted he’d get a straight answer, not from a downworlder, but he might get something.

Warlock Fell hummed. “You know about the Circle, Valentine’s Circle, I presume?”

He nodded. He knew all about those traitors.

“I’m sure you’re well aware of their going against the Clave. And - no matter how often it gets forgotten in the official histories conveniently left out of history! - their genocidal intentions. Your parents, or plausibly grandparents mustn’t forget the span of mortal lives, were part of the Circle.”

“No they weren’t. My parents are loyal to the Clave.”

“Robert and Maryse Lightwood?” asked Ragnor and Alec nodded. “I’m sorry, young one. That is why I came when I did, to turn Zoe away from the conversation. She won’t say a word, not to anyone. I know her - I trust her, even - and she has many secrets. Too many for my trust to be anything but misguided but she’s well practiced enough to know to keep your secret.”

“I want to go home.” He doesn’t look up as they pass through the door and out of the sunlight. Fell had rearranged the windows to be east facing so that he could use ‘nature’s alarm clock!’ That basically meant he spent every afternoon in the dark.

The warlock sighed. “I’m sorry, Alexander. Soon there’ll be nothing to stop you. But, and this is a warning I want you to think well on, from what you’ve shared with me going home seems a somewhat... fatal route to go down. You have survived, you will do more than survive I have no doubt, but your survival seems to hinge - to depend - on the Clave believing that you-” he stopped the chair next to to the cushion covered table that served as Alec’s bed - “are dead.”

“I’m a soldier of the Clave. If that means I have to die then I’ll die!” He didn’t mean it. Ragnor Fell could tell that he didn’t, pity showing in his gentle eyes as he picked Alec up bridal style and gently deposited him down. He didn’t want to die when they pushed him off a cliff and he didn’t want to go back there to a fall that would be fatal for sure. He just wanted to go home. 

The warlock lit up his magic and resumed his work straightening the bones in Alec’s legs, reopening and reconnecting hastily sealed blood vessels. “Perhaps, though pride may be a pitfall here, you should consider a change in name for the present. Being a Lightwood may cause more trouble than is necessary or wise.”

He’s too distracted by the feeling of his body knitting itself back together to immediately respond, the words taking a second to sort themselves into an order that makes sense.

“Perhaps,” Fell glances at his wings. “Hawk. Or Hawke, even. It passes for a name and it has a certain humour no! not irony! to it.”

“I don’t want to change my name! I’m a Lightwood.” 

The look the warlock gave him makes him feel like a petulant child, not a warrior on the verge of being an adult. He said nothing, though, merely humming thoughtfully and resuming his work on Alec’s right leg.

“It’d be temporary, right?” Alec asked. “Just till I go home. When I’m healed.”

“You must keep in mind the advice I’ve given you. It is imperative, vital, even. There are other options than returning to the people who threw you from the very literal ledge.”

Hawke. Definitely a name, though he’d have gone for something less dramatic. Cliches never suited him much. But if he was going to survive in a camp of werewolves, he’d need something that was very very far from him. “OK so. I’m Hawke then. For now.”

“And I am Ragnor. Not whatever last name basis nonsense that’s been stewing around that head of yours.”


	3. Blood Is Thicker Than Water, Right?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A recovering Alec has a choice to make.
> 
> Edit - realised that flying would take a shit ton of core strength to keep your legs up so Alec’s gonna look stupid for a bit because he’s still not that fit and no stele

"Are you ready to try again?" Alfie asked, crouching down next to where Alec had slumped to the floor. It was still early but they'd been awake since dawn trying this and he was fairly sure they weren't going to make any real progress any time soon. He frowned at his useless, weak legs. Too long not using them had ruined the muscle tone he'd been building since he learned to walk the first time. The werewolf offered him a hand and he took it, leaning heavily on the man while he tried to get his feet back under him. Fuck, it hurt a lot. Possibly he wasn't as recovered as he pretended to be, though that was his business and his alone. The faster he was fixed, the sooner he could go back to his actual life and stop wasting time here.

He noticed Ragnor in the doorway watching them as he nodded his OK to Alfie and the werewolf stepped back. He'd seen mundies doing this kind of thing at hospitals on some of the rare occasions he'd watched films or TV. Normally they seemed to have some kind of support, something to hold on to. It shouldn't have mattered all that much, he was no mundane, but without a stele to activate a strength rune he was struggling with what should have been simple. One foot in front of the other was simple enough in theory.

Alec breathed deeply in before attempting to move. Left leg first, he struggled to maintain his balance as he lifted his foot and had to stop for a second. He tried it faster and kept his foot so low it was brushing against the ground. Letting out the breath, he did the same thing with his right foot. Two steps down and another ten to go before he reached the back wall of the barn.

"Would this perhaps be a tad more feasible with the use of your wings?" asked Ragnor suddenly.

Alec nodded. "Yeah it might - they'd help for balance."

They'd been covered in a frame to make sure they heal right for the past few weeks and, to be honest, the excess weight at his back was probably a big factor in why he couldn't keep his balance. Ragnor snapped his fingers to shut the door behind him as he walked across the room to Alec. The Nephilim leaned heavily on him as he led him over to the makeshift bed and laid him down on his stomach.

Magic, cool and soothing, crackled across his back. He could feel it moving within him, sensing out tears and weaknesses.

"Well, I certainly have some good news for you. Outstanding news, of the very best kind. It seems that you're most the way to a full recovery, all healed in due time." Ragnor waved his hand dismissively and the cast vanished before reappearing in a pile in the corner. "Shall we perhaps try walking again before you take to the skies?"

His wings were lighter without the metal covering them and it was easier now, pushing himself back upright. A few experimental flaps confirmed that they were fundamentally functional. He made use of that and half flew, half walked his way to Alfie. It worked better than he’d have expected it would - less pressure on his feet without making his wings support all his body weight. The werewolf looked him over with an inscrutable face before nodding.

“That’s enough for today. Be back with food in a few.” He clapped Alec slightly too hard on the shoulder and didn’t say anything for an awkward few seconds. “Take care of yourself, kid.” He gave Ragnor a nod and walked out.

“I have a proposal for you, though you are welcome to refuse and remain... here,” Ragnor said.

“What is it?” asked Alec.

“I fear there’s trouble on the horizon and I would much rather not be caught in the middle of a war. Sadly, well, I am no doubt to some extent already involved. I have a house - a charming little place in the country - out of the eyes of the Clave or anyone else who might come looking.”

Alec scoffed. “You want me to go into hiding with you. Some warlock I barely know.”

“I am offering you sanctuary, little Nephilim. I doubt the Clave you profess such loyalty to would be overjoyed to see you alive and well.” Ragnor sighed dramatically. “Consider it. I won’t be leaving for another few weeks.”

***

The next two weeks passed in a blur. He’d made progress with both flying and walking and was agonisingly slowly rebuilding the muscle tone he’d lost. Flying took a lot of core strength, you had to support your entire body from your back, meaning he’d returned to the training regimen of daily sit ups and other muscle building exercises. Flips and arial manoeuvres of the sort that had been common place before his fall were still well out of the realm of possibility but he was fairly sure he was up to a slightly longer flight by now. He’d stolen a pen and notebook off Ragnor the night before and scribbled out a pretty cursory farewell note, thanking the downworlders for taking him in. He’d snuck back into the main building and tucked it under the warlock’s bag when he went to replace the stolen items.

As he rose up from the clearing, he could see the lights of Alicante in the distance and he used them as a guide as he flew through the night. Keeping his legs horizontal was taking a lot out of him and he could definitely feel the strain on his still healing wings but figured he’d still be able to handle the distance. It was a clear night, empty skies and the stars burning fiercely above him. He wondered if Ragnor would remember him. Or how Ragnor would remember him. Warlocks lived stupidly long lives, after all. There was a chance he’d see him again, if he survived the next few days, and he promised himself he’d properly thank the warlock for healing him and apologise for not saying goodbye. His muscles were burning and he let his legs flop down. He wasn’t where he needed to be, strength wise, and he’d made good enough time that being slightly less streamlined - and looking dumb - wouldn’t be the end of the world.

He winged his way downwards, aiming for the very outskirts of the city. The house he’d been staying in with his parents was near the centre of Alicante, but he’d be far more visible if he was flying. He touched down with less grace than he’d care to admit to. Thankfully, there was no one there to see him nearly break his legs as he crashed to the ground. Without a stele, he had no way to hide his wings so he tucked them tightly around him and crept through the wards and into the sleeping city.

The streets were mostly empty, though he had to dodge oncoming pedestrians more than once. No one challenged him as he snuck his way back towards where he hoped his family still were. If they’d left already he supposed he’d have to make his way back to New York though he wasn’t sure how. He doubted Ragnor would make him a portal and he didn’t know any other Warlocks. The lights of the family house were on, thank the angel. Going in through the front door probably wasn’t a good idea, if he was seen he could get everyone in trouble so he snuck his way behind the house and over the fence to the back garden.

Voices emanated from the kitchen. His mother. “-discussed this, Isabelle. We cannot-”

“The Blackthorns don’t deserve this! Mom, this isn’t fair.”

“Your brother died for all of us. If he walked in through that door, I know he’d only ask me to take him back up the cliff and make sure it worked this time. Because he is loyal, Isabelle. To our family, to the Clave. The Blackthorns are lucky to have been chosen.”

“You won’t even say his name!”

“You’re a child, Isabelle. Go to bed.”

There was the scrape of a chair being pulled back on slate, followed by footsteps and a door slamming. Eventually there were another set of footsteps and the room went dark. Alec sat under the window, his brain completely silent. Hours passed him by.

The first hints of light were teasing behind him by the time he stood up. His former bedroom window was just above him and he flew up to it, sliding it open. Thankfully it wasn’t locked, there was little to no danger of anyone breaking in here so his parents rarely bothered. Izzy was curled up on his bed fast asleep. A lump of some kind formed in his throat and he looked away fast. He’d missed her so much. Everything was as he’d left it, his stele on his desk next to the notebook he’d been practicing drawing runes in. He picked up the stele then looked back at his little sister.

He’d written a goodbye note to a warlock he’d known for a few months. Izzy deserved to know he was still alive, even if he couldn’t come home. He slid a pencil out of the cup he kept on his desk and turned to a fresh page on the pad.

 _Hey Iz,_  
_I’m sorry for leaving you. I wouldn’t have done it if I’d had a choice. Maybe sometime I’ll be able to come home and see you again but it’s probably not going to be for a while. I’m going to be staying with a warlock, he healed me and I don’t think he wants to hurt me. I can’t tell you his name in case Mom or Dad sees this but he seems like a good guy. You’ve got to be the best shadowhunter you can be and look after Max. He’s just a baby and he’ll be a pain because you were a pain when you were a baby but he’ll grow out of it. Don’t be someone you’re not, no matter what our parents try to make you. Maybe you’re not going to be the best shadowhunter but I don’t think the Clave is all that great anyway. I love you, and Max and Jace. Burn this after you’ve read it so neither of us get into trouble.  
Alec_

He folded it up small before shaking her gently until she stirred. “Hey, shh. Don’t let Mom or Dad see this.”

“Alec?” she asked, half awake. He slipped the paper into her hand.

“I have to go. Don’t tell anyone I was here.”

She said something else but he didn’t hear it, already slipping out the window holding tightly to his stele. Hopefully Ragnor hadn’t found the note yet and he still had room to take him up on his offer. He wasn’t sure that he had any other options.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s going to be a while before we see any Malec, just to warn you. We’re eight years behind the start of the show and Alec has a whole lot of growing up to do. This chapter was needlessly melodramatic because I’m like that and this is a fan fiction I’m writing to keep my mind off A levels. Also I set up a shadowhunters tumblr come find me at mgnus-bne. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	4. Nowhere to Turn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alec and Ragnor finally have the talk they need to have. With nowhere to turn, London and the relative safety the warlock offers seem like the only real option.

The sun had just about risen when Alec reached the clearing. It was still empty, though as he landed he could hear voices coming out of the main building. He snuck back into the barn. There was no way he'd be able to get the note back off Ragnor, not without everyone learning that he'd tried to go home. He sat down on the bed. Hopefully no one would find the note and he could get it back that night.

"You know, the wolves didn't allow me to stay here without recompense." Alec jumped at the sudden sound of Ragnor's voice. "Wards, shadowhunter. A glamour for their camp, protection from, well, your kind. And other wild animals, of course."

a"A-and?" he asked. Shit. He was pretty sure this was the build up to the warlock kicking him out or something.

Ragnor crossed over to him and sat down. "I know you tried to go home last night. Seeing as you're here, I assume it didn't go to plan. May I be frank?"

He wasn't sure if it was meant to be a rhetorical question but Ragnor paused to allow him to answer. "Yeah."

"I am afraid I'm not particularly fond of you. Not many of our canine friends are either. I know enough of the Clave to hazard a guess as to how you came to be in the situation you were in when we found you, and I would be a much colder beast if I had simply left you. Far be it from me to judge the child for the parents' crimes, but you have most certainly been somewhat receptive to the education they were doubtless eager to provide. We are not monsters, Alec. We would never leave a child to die."

"Then why did you ask me to go live with you?" asked Alec. "I mean, if I'm so bad why would you want to keep me around?"

Ragnor sighed. "I have a talent. A skill, more. Something I have developed over many years. Fate is tied tightly around you, in a way I have not seen since, since Jocelyn Fairchild came to - no, no. That's a story for another day. I would very much appreciate a chance to influence fate, after all who wouldn't? A voice for the downworld in the midst of whatever horrors are to come. Perhaps over time we may come to have a relationship with a stronger foundation than mutual benefit but for now, well, I offer shelter and a new life. All I ask in return is an open ear."

"My mother said if I went home she'd make sure I died this time. I thought I could do it but now I don't know. I don't want to die."

"What do you think will happen if you don't go back?"

"Everyone says the angel needs a sacrifice. Every few years, the angel chooses someone then when they're just able to fly they go to Raziel. It's why I don't have the angelic rune, because my duty is different or whatever. But- but it's never ever been a Herondale or any of the big families. It's always whoever's in trouble in Idris. Maybe they're right and the demons will all come and the world will be destroyed. I don't know." Alec kicked at the straw on the floor of the barn and scowled.

Ragnor stood. "I live just outside London. We'll leave tonight, if you want to come."

He silently watched the warlock leave. It was hard, every option sucked really fucking badly. Go home and be sent right back up that cliff, stay here and hope the wolves didn't wind up killing him. Or go with Ragnor - who willingly admitted he didn't like Alec. He slipped the stele out of his pocket and traced the rune to banish his wings. It felt so good to finally be able to stretch his back properly. The flight had really done a number on him.

Someone coughed: Alfie, watching him from the door. "There's a place for you here, kid. You're not all the way there yet, but I wouldn't have wheeled you around if I didn't think you had some good in ya. Things get rough with the old man, tell him to send you back here."

"Thanks, but I think we'll be ok."

Alfie nodded and left as quietly as he'd come. Ragnor's voice rose up from outside. He snuck over to the door - the warlock had most likely been waiting for Alfie to emerge.

"- a Shadowhunter, my friend. Not sure quite how I've managed to get myself into this tangle. He said he heard his mother saying she would make sure he died, or some such. Ritual sacrifice of some kind."

"It's political. Chucking kids off cliffs? It's fucking politics. Fucking Nephilim. You look after that boy, warlock. Keep him away from those fuckers. God knows what his parents did to get him killed, but I wouldn't send him back there."

"Lightwoods. Backlash for the Circle, no doubt. Take it out on the child. I wasn't aware that you'd gotten so attached."

They fell silent for a while before Ragnor spoke again. "I need to finish packing. Fire message me, if necessary. I can portal to the border if you should ever need my assistance."

Their footsteps moved away. He wasn't aware of any particular bonding with Alfie but he guessed lying there looking pathetic had triggered some nurturing instinct or something. The wolf was probably right - having some place to go outside of wherever Ragnor lived couldn't hurt. He'd have to say a proper goodbye, make sure that door stayed open.

There wasn't much of anything for him to pack so he folded up the blanket he'd been using and shook off the cushions. As much as he'd avoiding any bonding with anyone here - Zoe had, despite all Ragnor's promises about her keeping quiet, spread his identity around so it hadn't actually wound up being that much of a choice - he'd felt kind of safe in this building in the middle of an impenetrable forest. The wolves had invested enough in saving him that he wasn't too worried about them killing him or letting him be killed, and the Shadowhunters were scared enough of the pack that they wouldn't dare come after him there. It might have been a lonely sort of safety but it was safety.

He stepped out into the orangey hues of the sunset, the mountain peaks in the distance dappled in pink and purple. This was probably the last time he'd see Idris, he realised. It had never quite been a real place for him. Too caught up in the world of Shadowhunters and werewolves and all the other downworlders. At least in New York, there were the Mundanes with their complete obliviousness to the world he inhabited. The contrast made it all more tangible. Idris was beautiful, but it was like a dream waiting to turn bad. A little island cut off from the rest of the world and choking on all the problems the Clave pretended it had already fixed.

Alfie coughed behind him and Alec turned away from the sunset.

"Remember my offer, kid. You don't have to take it up now, it stands for whenever you need it." He clapped Alec on the shoulder then awkwardly took a step back.

Alec smiled tightly. "Thanks, Alfie. For everything. And to the rest of the pack too - you guys didn't have to take me in but you did and. And thank you. For saving my life and then not just sending me back to the Clave and giving me food and - and yeah. I don't really have much to offer but if you ever need my help, you've got it."

"We have an hour or two walking before we reach the border. I'll create a portal there." Ragnor shouldered a backpack and walked towards the wood, Alec followed behind him. "You know, I know the warlock who invented the portal. Couldn't have done it without my help, much as he pretends that it was all him."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well this chapter is literally entirely dialogue with nothing happening. However, this is the end of the recovery bit/forest stuff time for some London drama and yes I live in the UK yes this is me forcing the characters into an environment I know and yes it's going to be pointlessly melodramatic because this fic is me writing whatever the hell I want because no one can stop me. Also I updated the relationship tag because I had a moment of inspiration.  
> Come follow me on Tumblr, @mgnus-bne

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading  
> Hi so just want to add. Slightly drifted away from Shadowhunters over the past few months. However. I am going to try to take this to some kind of a conclusion, but don’t expect regular updates etc. If you’re into critical role by any chance, you can find me on twitter @alphabetray or tumblr @spookynein and I’ll probably wind up writing cr fic at some point.


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